


The Heart Grows Fonder

by pensversusswords



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: Tony Stark hasn't seen Steve Rogers in three years. Of course, the stubborn sonofa***** couldn't stay away forever, could he?(In the end, it turns out that Tony's pretty okay with that.)





	The Heart Grows Fonder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lovely supporter of mine, written almost a year ago?! And I kept forgetting to post it?! It's been so long since I wrote it that I literally had to re-read it before posting to remember all the plot points! Anywho, this AU is some amalgamation of MCU and 616 because I wanted Jan to be there (as she should be!!). 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Before _

Tony Stark is nineteen years old, graduating with his first master’s degree, a certified genius, is on the brink of owning a billion-dollar company… overall, he’s got a lot on his plate. His life has been programmed to be extraordinary, larger than life. But somehow, for some reason he cannot fathom, the most stressful part of his life in this particular moment is the tall, beefy, blond art major sitting across the room from him at a post-college graduation party. 

Steve Rogers is, frankly speaking, a problem. He’s kind, smarter than a lot of people give him credit for, funny in a dry, deadpan sort of way, and somehow, against all odds, he enjoys spending time with Tony, who has been thoroughly shocked since day one that the jock with a heart of gold even bothers to give him a moment of time. 

They’ve been friends for the duration of their degrees, and Tony has not been able to find any evidence indicating otherwise. They’re  _ best _ friends, Tony even dares to say, and Tony believes that Steve intends to stick around.

The problem is that Tony is entirely in love with Steve Rogers.

It’s something he’s known quite well for some time now, since not long after he and Steve met. It didn’t take long for him to reach the “oh shit” moment of realizing exactly why he spent all of his time doing homework in Steve’s studio instead of literally anywhere else, why his chest feels lighter when Steve smiles at him, why he often feels the urge to tell Steve  _ about his day.  _ Hopelessly smitten, then in love. He quickly forgets what it’s like to not be in love with Steve.

So now, here is is, on his graduation night, lamenting not for the first time that his infatuation is an impossibility, and that it really, truly sucks to be in love with your best friend. He wants to demand a refund on his lot in life, he wants to demand an exchange and not spend his days yearning for Steven Grant Rogers. 

Except, he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have Steve, and that is undeniably the worse fate. 

“Why the long face, swallow your cherry?” Natasha sidles up beside him where he’s standing by the counter at Steve and Sam’s apartment, trying his best to not stare at Steve. Nat startles him by bumping the hand that’s holding the fruity cocktail Tony has in one hand.

“I’m a fool for forgetting that you’re incapable of not being awful for more than three seconds,” Tony gripes. He moves the glass to his other hand and sucks up the patch of wetness where his drink had splashed. He does this while shooting Natasha a glare.

“You are a fool, but I think ultimately, you’re just a fool in love,” Natasha says plainly. She takes a hearty sip of her vodka soda. “You’ve got to work on being subtle. You’ve been staring at him all night.”

“Staring at whom?” Tony asks, doing his best to play it off nonchalantly. He doesn’t know why he bothers; Natasha has always been perfectly capable of reading him like an open book, despite his best efforts.

“Don’t play dumb.” She bumps his side again, but thankfully his drink is in the other hand and it causes no damage.

“Nat…”

“This is a good night to tell him, you know. Closure and new beginnings and all that bullshit.”

Tony doesn’t answer right away. He takes a sip of his drink and pointedly looks away from Nat’s insistent gaze. “What would be the point?”

Natasha sighs and takes another swig of her drink. “You deserve to be happy, Tony.”

Tony decides then that he’s had quite enough of this conversation. Unceremoniously, he hands Natasha his drink, shoots her one last pointed glare (to which she only shrugs) and turns to make his way across the room.

“You know I’m right!” Natasha calls out from behind him. Not turning around, Tony flips her off.

Steve looks up from his phone when Tony flops down next to him on the couch, bright eyes snapping over to Tony instantly. “Tony!” He smiles, and Tony pretends that his heart doesn’t squeeze uncomfortably in his chest. “Enjoying the party?”

“More than you, it seems,” Tony says. “Sitting over here by yourself on your phone, Rogers? You need to work on your hosting skills.”

“Mmm,” Steve hums, then laughs quietly. “Sam is the host. I just live here.”

“Semantics. And that still doesn’t explain why you’re hiding over here by yourself.”

In response, Steve cocks his head slightly to one side, fixing Tony with his frustratingly blue eyes.  _ God,  _ why are his eyes so blue? “I’m not alone, though,” Steve points out. “You’re here now.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Astute observation, Rogers,” he retorts. 

Steve sighs. “Stop calling me that,” he says, a disapproving frown furrowed between his brows. “Aren’t we beyond that by now,  _ Stark?” _

Tony smirks. “Not until it stops making you squirm!” he says gleefully. 

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly before tossing back another mouthful of his beer. “You live to torture me, don’t you.” 

“Absolutely,” Tony agrees. He reaches out then and snags the bottle of beer from Steve’s hand, brings it to his lips and takes a swig. He winces and passes it back to Steve after, while Steve watches with amusement playing around his mouth. Yup. He still hates beer. 

“It’s not that bad,” Steve laughs. He takes another pointed sip. 

“It’s bitter and awful.” Tony wrinkles his nose. “I’ll take a cosmopolitan or a bourbon over that any day.”

“You’ll drink straight bourbon, but you won’t drink a beer,” Steve says, his voice incredulously. He shakes his head. 

Tony grins at him. “The only straight thing I’ve ever done, darling,” he drawls, gives Steve an exaggerated wink. 

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst,” he teases, nudging Tony’s arm with his elbow. 

Tony squawks unhappily at the nudge, but can’t help but grin at Steve. “It’s my brand, I have to stick to it.”

“Mmm,” Steve hums. He looks at Tony with an unreadable expression.

“Is there something on my face?” Tony asks, tilting his head with curiosity when a few moments passed and Steve hasn’t said anything more. 

Steve shakes his head distractedly, eyes drifting around the room. “It’s crowded in here,” Steve says, straightening up slightly. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Wanna go outside?”

As nonchalantly as he can possibly manage, Tony hunches one shoulder in a shrug. As if it doesn’t matter. As if the idea of being alone with Steve with alcohol buzzing in his veins isn’t something that makes his heart throb with anticipation and want. “Sure,” he says, standing along with Steve, who smiles as they both rise. He’s going to have to stop doing that if Tony is going to have any chance of keeping it together.

Before they leave the room, he catches a meaningful glance from Natasha, and a raised brow from Rhodey across the room. As much as he loves both of them, now is not the time; he effectively ignores them both. 

Steve leads him out onto the sad excuse for a balcony, barely large enough to accommodate more than three people at one time. When Tony slips through the opening in the sliding door, he immediately finds that he has no choice but to stand extremely, dangerously close to Steve.

Tony doesn’t miss the way that Steve sways a little bit -- clearly that beer he’s been packing away has started to have an effect on him -- before he sits down on the bench he and Sam had managed to stuff into the small space. Every once in a while, Tony sees glimpses of what Steve would be like if he leaned into the brawny, larger than life jock aesthetic he has going on with the obnoxiously large pecs, and he sees that now when Steve all but sprawls out on the bench, arms outstretched across the back, his knees spread slightly.

Maybe it’s the excitement of the day, or the alcohol currently singing sweetly in his veins, but Tony finds himself flopping down next to Steve. Without even questioning himself, he scoots in closer to Steve, so he’s almost tucked under his arm. No big deal for the two of them; Steve has a tendency to throw his arm around Tony on the daily anyways, and any time they sit on a couch together, Steve takes up so much space that he has no choice but to sit close to him. 

But right now he’s drunk and high on the excitement of celebration, and he’s losing his willpower to stop himself from nestling neatly underneath Steve’s arm and urging Steve to drop his arm around his shoulders, to hold him close. 

Not quite, though. A few more drinks might break his resolve, though.

“How does it feel to be a graduate?” Tony asks, letting the words fall out into the comfortable silence between them. “Did all those speeches motivate you for the great wide beyond?”

Steve laughs softly. “Feels the same, honestly. How about you… or is all the magic gone because this is your second time around this track?”

“Based on your reaction, there was never any magic to start,” Tony snorts. He shifts in his seat, tilts his head back so that the back of his head brushes against Steve’s forearm. “It’s all the same,” Tony concludes. “But nice to be done.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Well, at least you have your friends. And we have a future to look forward to.”

Tony doesn’t want to think about the future. “Live in the moment, Rogers,” Tony jibes, nudging him with his shoulder. “Go dance with your friends and don’t worry about the future.”

A laugh gusts out of Steve, and without any warning, without any time to prepare, his arm drops off of the back of the back of the bench and falls to rest across Tony’s shoulders. 

Tony isn’t sure, but he thinks that he might stop breathing for a few moments. 

This isn’t new. Steve does this a lot, he’s not shy about throwing a friendly arm around him, squeezing Tony’s arm when the moment calls for it, or hugging Tony more than any of his other friends. It shouldn’t surprise him and take his breath away. 

But it does. This feels different. Tony feels hyper-aware of the situation they’re in, his entire body lit up like a live wire as he feels every move, every breath from Steve. 

“I’d rather stay out here with you,” Steve says, his voice soft and so, so close to Tony’s ear. 

Swallowing thickly, Tony turns his head to face Steve. 

Steve is already looking at him, his blue, blue eyes fixed on Tony. “I don’t think I’m more interesting than your graduation party,” Tony says weakly. 

In response, Steve only shrugs, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “One of these days, Tony, I’m going to convince you that I enjoy your company.”

At that point, Tony thinks that Steve could’ve said anything and it would’ve elicited the same reaction from him. His defenses were falling down all around him, his heart racing along with the energy of the moment, his body thrumming with it. He doesn’t decide, he just does. 

Unthinkingly, Tony leans in towards Steve, overcome with a primal, urgent need to kiss him. 

He hears Steve’s sharp intake of air and desperately hopes that means something good, he hopes that--

Suddenly, there’s a hand pressing gently on his chest. “Ah, wait,” Steve says, and Tony pauses in confusion. “You don’t have to… this isn’t how I expected this night to go.” 

And that’s the exact moment when Tony’s world falls apart around him. 

“Oh,” he says. His mouth feels like someone has just poured sand in it. He can’t manage to make any more words with his mouth. 

“Are you--”

Thankfully, mercifully, Tony manages to find his voice. “Sorry,” he says sharply, standing up so quickly that he nearly falls over. “I just remember I have to be… literally anywhere else.” 

Steve reaches out as if to steady him, but Tony instinctively steps out of his space, backing away quickly and fumbling for the door. 

“Tony, where are you--”

“Sorry Rogers, I really can’t stay.” Tony hopes his voice doesn’t sound as frantic as he feels, with panic rising in his chest and making his throat close over. His thoughts are a panicked litany of “ _ need to get out of here right now”  _ and “ _ you are truly the stupidest genius on the planet, Stark _ ”. 

He finds the latch on the door and, with great relief, flings it open before darting through it. Through the static in his brain, he hears Steve calling out to him, telling him to wait, but Tony only has one objective; get the hell out of this house. 

Tony makes his way through the room on a mission; he grabs Natasha on his beeline for the front door, tells her he’ll explain later. 

In that moment, after years of pining, Tony finally knows what it’s like to feel bone crushing, soul shattering heartbreak. 

He’s not particularly a fan. 

  


_ 3 years later _

It’s three entire years before Tony sees Steve again. 

Not for a lack of Steve trying to change that, of course. The man has and always been stubborn, nothing in the universe could ever change that. He called. He called  _ a lot.  _ He left messages, hundreds of them, and Tony listened to every single one; he’s never been known for his sense of self preservation. 

“You’re being dramatic,” Natasha had told him, feeding him a spoonful of ice cream. Tony had just huffed in response and burrowed closer into Rhodey’s side. It had taken weeks for him to even let them in, weeks of him making excuses and hiding in his shop, only sending texts that assured them that he was okay, just wanted to be alone. Eventually, that was no longer acceptable for the two of them, and they barged in to kidnap him for a night of cliche post break up activities. 

It wasn’t a break up and ice cream wasn’t going to fix it, but Tony hadn’t been able to deny that it was good to be cradled in Rhodey’s arms and have all of his nails painted a bright red by Natasha. 

“I can’t do it,” Tony had told them. He was wine drunk and numb with it all, and he just… couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t listen to Steve explain his rejection, couldn’t subject Steve to his feelings any longer. It wasn’t fair. 

He knew then that Steve would never agree with him, but Steve was stubborn and Tony didn’t feel strong enough for any of it anymore. 

“Even if we think you’re being a self destructive fool,” Rhodey had said, “we love still love you.” 

Natasha had grabbed his ankle gentle and squeezed in her agreement. “You’re  _ our  _ self destructive fool.”

They’d laughed at that, pained and broken. Tony had believed them and that had been enough. So, he avoided Steve until even the Rogers brand of stubbornness and endless patience had worn thin, and that had been the end of it. 

Ultimately, though, he’d known that one day he would probably, most likely been faced with this moment. 

He and Natasha were at an art gallery; Natasha’s new boyfriend got tickets from a friend who had some pieces in the show, Natasha told him, but Bucky couldn’t make it. He would’ve sent Pepper along in his place, but she was busy and Tony wasn’t. So, this is his fate. He accepts it gracefully. Well, mostly. Not before he complains profusely first, though. 

Only a few minutes after they arrive, as he walks up to one of the artists exhibits in utter disbelief, Tony wishes with entire being that he hadn’t come, because there, as clear as day, Tony reads:

_ Steven Rogers.  _

Standing next to it, less than five feet away, staring like a deer in headlights, is the man himself. 

Tony wonders what cruel twist of fate dealt him this card, and which of his blunders in this or a past life warranted making him suffer this much. 

He looks different, but only just slightly so; his hair is longer than he remembers it, and there’s a very faint shadow of beard over his cheeks and jaw. Other than that, he looks utterly the same: same piercing blue eyes, same straw-blond hair, same chiselled jawline, same broad shoulders. He still looks purely, truly just like Steve. The Steve he hasn’t spoken to in three years, and is staring at him with a shocked, confused expression that matches what Tony assumes is on his own face. 

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks from his side, finally noticing that he’s been standing entirely still, staring for what feels like hours.. Then, realization, and softly, “oh.” 

Gently, she takes his arm and leads him away, forcing him to break eye contact with Steve. Shaken, he follows her lead as she pulls him away. 

“Shit,” she says.

“Did you…”

“No,” Natasha says. Her voice is steady and sure, the exact opposite of how Tony feels. “We haven’t met yet. Thought it was too big of a coincidence for it to be your Steve.”

Tony huffs out a heavy breath. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Of course not,” he says wryly. Natasha has a tendency to push him more than he likes, but never anything like this. Some boundaries even she wouldn’t cross. 

Natasha doesn’t linger on his assumption that she would do something like that to Tony, or question him. Instead, she leans a little bit closer and squeezes his arm. “I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted my gut looked into it more.” 

Tony shrugs. “Not your fault. Just my luck, isn’t it? The one person I never wanted to see again showing up because my best friend is dating his best friend.”

“We could always just leave now,” Natasha suggests. 

“He’s seen me,” Tony reminds her. “I already ran away from him once, he might use those tree trunks he calls arms to throttle me into a new dimension if I do it again.”

Natasha snorts. “Please, as if he would ever. Even now, he wouldn’t.” 

Tony shrugs. “I haven’t spoken to him in years, I wouldn’t know what he would or wouldn’t do. Maybe he’s developed an anger management issue and has a personal vendetta against me.” 

“Tony!”

Tony straightens in surprise at the sound of a familiar voice behind him. He turns around just in time to catch an armful of Janet Van Dyne flying into his arms. 

“ _ Oof, _ ” Tony says, staggering a bit before steading himself. “Jan? Of course, I should’ve expected to see you here.” The family friend and socialite was always frequenting gallery openings and art exhibits, her love for art rivalled only by her love for fashion. Hell, she probably had a hand in putting this show together.

When Jan pulls away from the hug, she’s grinning widely. “The real surprise is seeing you here!” She leans over his shoulder to wave at Natasha. “Hi Nat!”

“Hello Jan,” Natasha says warmly, coming forward to kiss Jan’s cheek in greeting. It’s impossible for anyone to be anything other than friendly and warm with Jan, even someone like Natasha. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

“Why thank you, darling,” Jan grins, does a little twirl to show off her dress. “Oh, have you two met any of the featured artists tonight? You should meet Steve!” 

Natasha speaks when Tony cannot, his mouth forgetting entirely how to form words. 

“Oh, that’s okay, Jan,” Natasha says, “I don’t think--”

“Steve!” Jan calls out, clearly too excited to even hear what Natasha is saying, “Steve, come here and meet some friends!”

Tony is gripping Natasha’s arm so hard that it’s going to leave marks, but she doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t even know that he must be hurting her until she places a hand on his, squeezing his fingertips gently. He loosens his grip obligingly, fighting with all his strength to calm his heartbeat. 

“Hello,” a deep, calm voice says behind him, and Tony is already in such distress that he can’t tell if the familiar voice actually makes him feel any worse or better. There is only chaos in his mind, he is unable to discern anything else. “Tony, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Again?” Jan asks. 

“We actually knew each other in college,” Steve says, his voice so, so careful. 

“Oh, what a coincidence!” Jan exclaims. 

Tony inhales. He’s trapped and has nowhere to go. He has to face this. 

Slowly, he turns. 

The sight of Steve’s face strikes him just as hard as seeing it the first time he had. Steve has him fixed in his unwavering stare, his mouth set in a line. His expression is unreadable. 

Tony has been a master of hiding the turmoil behind a false veneer for his entire life, and if it weren’t for the years of training leading up to this moment, there’s no way that he could have managed it. But, as it is, he’s been well trained for a moment like this. 

“Steve,” he says, putting on a plastic grin, “what a surprise to see you here.” 

“Even more surprising to see you here, I think,” Steve responds. His voice is level, not betraying anything. Not anger, not elation, nothing. “You never were one for art shows.”

_ But I went to all of yours,  _ Tony thinks, then kicks himself immediately. That’s the absolute last thing he needs to think about. 

“Just joining a friend,” he says, his voice brittle as it leaves his lips. 

“This is Steve’s first big gallery exhibit,” Jan offers, reaching over to squeeze Steve’s arm. “He should be very proud.”

Steve gives her a genuine smile that makes Tony’s heart ache. “Thank you, Jan.”

“Congratulations,” Tony says. He means it. He knows how good Steve is, and he knows how much he deserves this. 

“He’s even looking for a model for his next series!” Jan continues, “the gallery has invited him back to share new pieces later this year.”

“How about that,” Tony says weakly. “Sounds like success is on its way.” 

“You know? Tony would be a beautiful model!” Jan exclaims. She nudges Tony sharply in his ribcage, who makes a soft  _ oof  _ sound in protest. “If you could get him to sit still long enough, that is.” 

Pointedly rubbing his side where she jabbed him with her elbow, Tony shoots a glare at her. It’s a joke. He knows that she’s joking but even as a joke, it’s too much. He’s too overwhelmed right now to feel anything other than utter panic, there is no room for amusement. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to decline.” 

“You could nurture your newfound interest in art!”

“What, are you scared, Tony?” 

Tony looks over at Steve sharply, hearing the challenge naked in his voice. He meets Steve’s eyes again, and for the first time, he sees a glimmer of emotion on his face. It’s unreadable, but something burns just behind his gaze. 

“Too busy,” Tony retorts. He’s not going to take the bait.

Steve shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. He smiles politely. “Jan, I’m sorry but I think I need to go chat with a few buyers now. We’ll talk after?”

Nodding, Jan crosses over to him and gives him a hug before waving him off. Steve gives them all a polite smile, his eyes lingering on Tony for a long moment before he turns and leaves. 

Watching Steve’s retreating back as he walks away, Tony finds that his stomach feels like it’s been scrambled within him, and his heart is racing like it wants to jump out of his chest. 

Naturally, he can think of nothing else for the rest of the night. 

Is Steve doing okay? He has an exhibit at an art gallery, that means he must be making a name for himself, right? Is he happy? How much does he hate Tony for leaving and never looking back? Has Steve seen the advancements he’s been making with Stark Industries covered in the news, or is he like Tony, hiding from every glimmer of a memory of him?

Naturally, Tony doesn’t absorb a single thing he sees for the rest of the night. He accompanies Natasha through the entire gallery, as he insists that they should stay, the damage has already been done, but doesn’t process any of the fine pieces everyone else is fawning over. For the first time in years, all he can think is  _ Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. _

He makes it through, though, and when Jan appears at his side later that evening fleetingly, fluttering up to his side to slip a piece of paper into his hand and kiss his cheek before waving goodbye and disappearing again, he isn’t surprised. Tony just slides the piece of paper into his pocket, not bothering to look at it before he does.

He doesn’t need to. He knows what it is. 

It’s an opportunity. 

The thing is, Tony has always been weak when it comes to Steve. 

This isn’t a revolutionary or surprising realization. Tony has long since known this about himself. This is why he cut himself off from Steve; he knew then that he wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation to run back, to fall even deeper in love, to let himself overflow with his feelings for Steve until they came rushing out of him like a waterfall. He slipped that one night, and it would’ve only been a matter of time before he messed it up even more if he stayed. He cannot be trusted when it comes to Steve. 

Now, he finds himself in the back seat while Happy drives, playing with the piece of paper Steve gave him. He meant to throw it out, really, he did. It’s not like he forgot about it: no, it definitely burned a hole into his pocket the entire night, a reminder like an arrow to his heel that he was once again so close, yet so far away from Steve. 

He toys with it, examining the needlessly old-fashioned cursive writing. “ _ Steve Rogers: Cell”  _ it says. A number is listed underneath. 

He knows he shouldn’t do it. A stronger man would be able to resist. But, again, Tony is weak when it comes to Steve Rogers. 

It doesn’t even fully clue into his mind what he’s doing until he’s already picked up his phone and is dialing. By then, it’s too late. He’s doing this. 

The phone rings three times before Steve picks up. “Hello?” 

“It’s Tony. I’ll do it.” 

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t call you out of the blue if I wasn’t sure,” Tony answers, his voice heavy with the absurdity of the situation. He toys with the hem of his jacket, nervous energy running through him. 

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to make sure.” 

“Yes,” Tony says tightly, “I’m sure.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. Tony huffs out an exasperated sigh. 

“Our best friends are dating, aren’t they? We’re going to have to learn to get along again anyways.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. Steve doesn’t owe him his friendship. Steve doesn’t owe him anything. 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll text you my address. We’ll set something up.”

“Okay,” Tony says. 

“Okay.” 

“Bye.” 

Tony hangs up the phone, stares at it in his hand for a while, trying to process what just happened. The strangest phone conversation he’s ever had in his life, is what happened. And apparently, he’s Steve’s live model now. 

He stares out the window for the rest of the ride, thinking about how much it’s going to suck if he’s not strong enough to stop himself from loving Steve again. 

The first session is utterly, painfully, catastrophically awkward.

Tony gets Happy to circle around the block four times when they got to Steve’s apartment, because he needs a bit more time to collect himself. He needs more time than a few quick swings around the block can offer but what else can he do? He’s already more than fashionably “Tony Stark, eccentric billionaire” late. There isn’t enough time in the world for him to prepare for this.

Then, because that doesn’t work at all, he calls Rhodey. 

“So,” he says by way of greeting when Rhodey picks up. “I have a problem.” 

“Well hello to you too,” Rhodey grumbles from the other end of the line. “Haven’t spoken in weeks, missed you too.”

“Can we save the lover’s spat for later, Rhodey-bear?” Tony taps his fingers on his knee impatiently. 

Rhodey sighs. “What’s going on, Tones? You okay?”

“If you call being on my way to meet with Steve Rogers okay, sure.”

Rhodey is silent for so long after Tony says that that he thinks that maybe the call dropped. 

“Rhodey--”

“I heard you,” Rhodey says. “Just taking a moment to process.”

“I don’t really have a moment to process,” Tony says bitterly. “I’m circling around the block.”

“Tony, I love you, but are you out of your mind?” 

Tony lets out a frantic, ragged laugh. “I must be, huh? Only a true masochist would do something like this.”

“Well, that’s not exactly news,” Rhodey quips at him. “But this is a new level for you. Are you going to tell me what happened.” 

“Short version is: I ran into him at an art gallery Natasha brought me to, turns out she’s dating his best friend, then we ran into Jan, who volunteered my services as a model for Steve’s next series. Long version pending until after I hopefully survive this.”

“Jesus, Tony…”

“I know.” Tony rests his face in his hands, presses his fingers against his eyes so hard that he sees stars. “You can berate me later but… I need to go in now. We’re pulling up.” 

“Text me after.” 

“Sure thing, honey.”

Rhodey snorts. “Bye, Tony. Good luck with… whatever the hell it is you’re doing. Be careful.”  _ Don’t hurt yourself,  _ Tony hears.  _ Don’t be a self destructive fool for once.  _

Tony hangs up without acknowledging that statement, because truly, he has no idea what he’s doing and they both know it. He’s not going to make and promises he can’t keep.

He’d expected a confrontation when he walked in. He’d expected Steve to yell, to puff up his chest like he always used to when he was angry, to unleash years of frustration on him. 

It’s not nearly so dramatic. Instead, Steve opens the door, welcomes him into the apartment amicably, offers him a drink and encourages him to get comfortable. 

It’s by no means a prestigious or overly expensive looking home. It’s an old house converted into two units, which gives Steve a decent sized living space. It’s clean and tidy, but also very obviously old; the siding on the outside is cracking and peeling in places, and inside the floors creak and the fixtures look like they haven’t been updated since the 80s. It’s cozy, it suits Steve, but it’s not what Tony was expecting. 

“Didn’t bother getting a penthouse condo with that artist salary?” Tony asks, and immediately regrets it, because Steve’s face shows that he clearly hadn’t taken it as a good natured jibe, which likely meant he thought that Tony was making fun of him.

Great start. 

“I’m not that well known yet,” Steve explains, “and I like this place. Not to sound like a cliche, but it has great light.”

“It’s a nice place,” Tony says weakly, kicking himself inside. It is nice. It’s homey and it’s wholly Steve’s.

From there it doesn’t get worse but it doesn’t get better either. The afternoon stays at a fairly consistent level of uncomfortable and awkward, which was to be expected, but thoroughly painful to experience. Steve offers Tony something to drink, he refuses, and Steve then tells him to sit on the couch in his living room. There’s an easel with a blank canvas set up in front of it. 

When Tony asks if “this is a getting naked kind of ordeal”, Steve shakes his head firmly, no. He might need Tony’s shirt off somewhere down the line, but not yet. 

Tony tries to put that out of his mind. He’s relieved, though, he doesn’t know how he would endure being naked in front of Steve on their first time alone together in three years. 

It's strange being around Steve again. Granted, they don’t really talk much for the first few visits -- Tony just lays sprawled across the couch while Steve sits in front of his easel and focused, his face set with concentration as morning light filters through the window, lighting up his golden hair around his face. Even so, it’s strange. 

He's different but the same all at the same time; Tony recognizes his mannerisms, the way his mouth lifts at the corner when he finds something funny (like Tony dropping his tablet on his face), or the frown lines that appear on his brow when they furrow into a frown (multiple instances). Everything about Steve is familiar.

The difference is that the last time he and Steve spent time together, they were close friends. Tony doesn't know what their dynamic is now, and whether the estranged aspect of their relationship is what makes Steve feel foreign. He seems quieter, slower to express emotion. He’s just out of Tony’s reach… polite and friendly but not  _ friend _ ly. 

Is this who Steve is now, or is it the version of Steve that is still angry with Tony? 

It’s not something Tony can ask, so he doesn’t.

They don’t ever talk about it, not really. The tension hangs heavy between them for a while, with unsaid words, unspoken anger and fear palpable between the two of them. 

It would be a massive understatement to say that Tony feels guilty about it. 

So, Tony resorts to the one thing he knows that he can do: use his money in a small way to apologize. 

Tony notices during that first visit that Steve’s easel is rather rickety, has been duct taped together in a few places, has very clearly seen many better days. With guilt on his mind, Tony shows up for their third visit dragging a massive box into the apartment. 

“Tony, you didn’t have to.” 

“Just accept it,” Tony says sharply, an edge of exasperation edging into his voice. Really, he means  _ please accept it. I wanted to. Please don’t make me explain.  _ He forces a tense laugh in the hopes that it masks the shakiness of his voice. “You needed a new easel, and now you have a new easel. It’s a gift, Rogers.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause that follows as Tony waits, tension strung through his entire body, as he waits for Steve to respond. He’s bracing himself for more protesting, for Steve to draw out this painful moment even longer. 

“Thank you,” Steve says instead, his voice low and steady, softened in comparison to his tone just moments earlier. “I appreciate this, Tony.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Steve says firmly. Stubborn as always. “Thank you.”

Tony sighs and relents. Steve really hasn’t changed a bit; his stubbornness and earnestness are exactly the same as they were in college. As frustratingly endearing as it can be, Tony is glad for it. 

Deep inside of him, a part of him that he keeps buried and doesn’t pay much mind because all of this is too  _ impossible,  _ thinks  _ he’s still my Steve.  _

Silly. It’s silly and Tony knows that. Steve has never been his, and never will be his. But even after all these years, the part of him that yearns for it to be real still lives, smouldering gently like an ember. 

Perhaps, in that way, he’s just as stubborn as Steve. 

“Well, get to work then,” Tony jibes. He collapses on the couch, sprawling across unceremoniously. “The art isn’t going to make itself, is it?”

Steve lets out an amused snort. “Stop sassing me and maybe I’ll get started.”

Tony rolls his eyes, throwing a smirk Steve’s way before crossing the room to his usual spot on the couch and flopping down. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to cancel the exhibit, because there’s no way I’m going to stop sassing you.”

With a laugh, Steve shakes his head. “Fine, fine. Are you going to help me set it up?”

Tony grins at him impishly. “I was thinking that you could put those big arms of yours to use and build it while I relax leisurely on your couch.”

At that, Steve just rolls his eyes. 

It gets a little bit easier after that. Not easy, not perfect, but it gets easier.Maybe they just needed something to break the ice between them, to get them back into a natural rhythm of things. Tony needed to do something that showed he actually gave a shit. 

Steve works best at the wee hours of the morning, just when Tony is winding down for the night after working in the shop all night. He shows up at Steve’s door heavy with a pleasant sleepiness, and often dozes while Steve works. Steve paints for a few hours while Tony lounges in whichever position suits Steve best for the day. 

They go to breakfast afterwards, at a spot that Steve claims to be the best place for breakfast in the city, after Tony’s stomach rumbles just when they’re finishing up for the day, and Tony is coerced into admitting that he hasn’t eaten since the day before. Steve isn’t having that, and he’s all but dragged out of the apartment and unceremoniously plopped into a booth at a tiny diner just down the street from Steve’s place.

Steve orders an obscene amount of waffles, slathered in whipped cream and berries and syrup, while Tony orders a slightly smaller stack with significantly less condiments, that somehow still manage to be subjected to Steve’s wandering fork. 

“I really don’t understand at all where you’re putting it all,” Tony had marveled that first time, watching Steve inhale his millionth waffle. “You don’t have an ounce of fat on you.” 

Steve shrugs, reaches out for his glass of orange juice to wash the sickly sweet abomination down. “I work out?” 

Tony gives a pointed look at his bicep that’s essentially bulging out from under his t-shirt sleeve. “I never would’ve guessed. You haven’t changed much, then.” 

It’s the first time either of them have mentioned their past in so many words, and Tony feels the air shift around them as the words slip out of his mouth. Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment before they tear away and Tony reaches for his mug just to have something to hold onto. 

“I guess not,” Steve says quietly.

Tony dares to look up and give Steve a meaningful look, which Steve returns in kind. Neither of them want to linger on the past. This can’t continue if they talk about it, Tony thinks. It’s easy to settle into this realm of not-talking-about it, because then Tony can fool himself into thinking that they will never have to confront it. 

It’s alright. Tony can handle it. He just can’t fall in love with Steve again. Easy enough, right? 

Steve reaches over then, and stabs one of Tony’s waffles with his fork, scooting it on over to his own plate. Tony squawks indignantly. “I could’ve eaten that!”

“It was getting cold,” Steve mumbles around a mouthful. He swallows and gives Tony a cheeky grin. Tony can tell it’s at least a little bit forced, but damn it, he appreciates Steve trying. If Steve can try 

The post-painting breakfast becomes a kind of tradition, and Tony has to force himself to not think too much about how nice it is to have a  _ tradition  _ with Steve again. Just like when they were back in college and getting pizza at 3 am and eating it in Tony’s lab to tide them over through a particularly long night of schoolwork. 

They can’t go back to that, but Tony can’t help but want for them both to build something new together, as friends. That first breakfast gives Tony a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s possible for them. 

“You have breakfast together every week?” 

Tony bristles at Natasha’s tone. He can hear the disapproval and the brief but unrelenting lecture that is to follow. 

It’s been months now since he and Steve started meeting for his paintings, and somehow they’ve both ended up at Natasha’s apartment in the interest of the four of them bonding. The four of them being Bucky, Natasha, Steve, and Tony. Apparently Bucky had been pestering Steve for months to invite Tony over, seeing as they spend so much time together (his words, not Tony’s), and finally Natasha bit the bullet and asked them herself. Well, she asked Tony, and told him that she could either tell Bucky why Tony was avoiding it, or he could come. 

He chose the lesser of two evils… tagging along with the happy couple as a pair of awkward third and fourth wheels. 

Bucky seemed wary of him at first, but Natasha told him to expect as much from him. He’s a bit like a grumpy cat, she explains. Sweet, but underneath an exterior you have to let him remove on his own terms. He’s friendly enough, though, and he’s Steve’s best friend too, so that’s more than enough for Tony. 

“Yes,” Tony says now, glaring at Natasha, daring her to go further. 

Of course, it’s Natasha, so that doesn’t work even a little bit. “So, you know this is a shit idea, right? You have to.”

“Don’t,” Tony snaps, stalking across the kitchen to the still warm coffee pot, flicking it on. 

“How often are you seeing each other?” Natasha asks. Tony feels her eyes on him as he grabs a mug off the counter and shoves it under the coffee pot. 

He focuses on the stream of dark liquid flowing into the mug rather than meet Natasha’s insistent gaze. 

“I was modelling for him,” Tony says stiffly. “And we became friends again. It’s not a big deal Nat.” 

“That man is your weakness and you know it. It’s never going to be ‘not a big deal’ when it comes to him.”

Tony foregoes milk and sugar to take a scalding hot sip of the coffee black, wincing when it burns his mouth. “Nat,” he says, suddenly very tired and desperately not wanting to have this conversation. He slumps against the counter. 

“You’re smart enough that I don’t have to tell you that this probably isn’t healthy.” 

Tony turns to her and glares. Natasha’s expression doesn’t change; she keeps her eyes fixed on him. “Then why are you telling me?” Tony grits out.

“Because even smartasses need reminding sometimes.” She is entirely unconcerned with Tony’s apparent hostility to the conversation. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Tony looks over at Steve and Bucky on the couch, just as Steve throws his head back and laughs at something that he can’t hear. Bucky reaches out and smacks Steve’s shoulder in retaliation, which only makes Steve laugh even harder. Tony takes in angular, strong lines of his profile, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the broadness of his shoulders as they shake with laughter. 

“Absolutely not,” Tony answers, finally. 

“Didn’t think so,” Natasha says. She places a conciliatory hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Be careful. I just don’t want you to get hurt again. You seem happy around him, which is good, but… we’ve been here before. And it took you a long time to pick up all the pieces. Just, be careful.” 

Tony gives her a wry smile. “When am I not?” 

Natasha doesn’t even bother to deign to give that question an answer. She just squeezes his shoulder again, gives him a small, sympathetic smile before making her way to join the boys on the couch. 

Tony lingers for a moment before he follows. He’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into, but he can only imagine that it will end in heartbreak. 

Because apparently Tony cannot have nice things, Natasha’s warning yields its fruits only a few days later. 

It happens accidentally. It’s Tony’s fault, yes, but he didn’t  _ intend _ for it to happen. But that seems to just be how it goes, for him. 

They have a sitting session planned like they normally do every week, but Tony ends up stuck in a board meeting for far longer than he expected. Normally he would waltz out and let the meeting continue on without him -- he didn’t earn his title as “eccentric” CEO by accident after all -- but Pepper looks like she is a worrying level of stressed and tired, as opposed to her usual constant state of fretting that was just inherent in her personality. Even Tony knows when he needs to not be an ass and cooperate. 

After the meeting he has to help Pepper sort out a convoluted issue between the R&D department and the board, and that takes hours long than it should. Pepper looks at him pleadingly when he tells her that he needs to meet someone, and again, he knows when he can’t burden Pepper with his flakiness. 

So he sends Steve a text telling him that he’s not going to be able to make it to their session, that they can set up another day to do it. Steve texts him back to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t mind rescheduling. And that’s the end of it. 

Except that’s not the end of it at all. 

He finishes up with Pepper early enough that daylight is only just fading away, far too early for him to sleep and he’s reached a point of exhaustion with all things to do with his work that he can’t stand the idea of going down to his shop and working more. It’s rare that he feels this kind of burnout, and ultimately he blames that unfamiliar territory for what he does next. 

Tony texts Steve again, a simple texts that reads “ _ are you still awake?” _ . He waits for the response while pacing across the floor in his bedroom, unable to staunch the nervous energy flowing freely within him. 

Steve answers within five minutes. “ _ Yes… why _ ?”.

Tony doesn’t answer the text. He just calls Happy to bring the car around. 

When Tony shows up, Steve opens the door with a surprised (but not confused) expression written across his face to find Tony standing with enough Chinese food for at least five people. 

“Tony,” he says, “hi, I wasn’t sure if--”

“I brought food,” Tony interrupts, holding up one of the take out containers. “Unless you’re busy. Or not hungry.”

Steve looks at him carefully, assessing the uncertainty of the situation. “I’m not busy,” he says finally, “and I am hungry. But you didn’t have to, Tony.”

With a shrug, Tony follows Steve inside when he steps back into the apartment. “I missed our meeting earlier,” he says by way of explanation. 

Steve shuts the door behind him with a soft thud, turning back to Tony concern on his face. “I’m glad to see you, but you didn’t have to go out of your way, I can’t really paint--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony dismisses Steve’s concern with a wave of his hand, not allowing himself to linger on Steve having said that he’s glad to see him. “The light, I know. I didn’t say anything about painting, though. I broke a promise and now I’m here with food to try and make up for it.” 

Steve watches him for a few long moments, his expression unreadable, before finally a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Did you get extra dumplings?” 

Tony hands the bags over to Steve. “See for yourself!” Of course he did. Steve is essentially a vacuum cleaner when it comes to food, so naturally Tony always orders extras of everything when he brings food along with him. It’s in his own best interest, really. If he doesn’t, Steve’s just going to steal all of his food anyways. Might as well take preventative measures to make sure he gets more than two bites of food. 

“Mmm,” Steve hums appreciatively as he sits down on the floor in front of his coffee table and starts prying the containers open. He immediately starts tucking in to some fried rice, groaning his appreciation at the food. Tony flops down next to him, loosening his tie as he sinks to the floor. 

“Pass me those noodles before you slobber all over them,” Tony demands, extending his hand for said noodles. 

With a grunt, Steve obliges passing it over. Gratefully, Tony takes it and shoves a glorious forkful into his mouth -- an absolute relief after not eating all day and feeling bone weary exhaustion with dealing with problem after problem. 

“Wanna tell me about your day?”

Tony considers, mouth still full of food. He swallows and shakes his head. “Tell me about yours instead.”

Steve turns on some silly crime show while they eat, and they talk idly, sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, backs against the couch, and Tony just gets a few moments to soak in the comfort of the moment. 

That isn’t where the mistake comes in. 

No, the mistake comes much later, when they’re on hour five of the crime show marathon, both of them dozing off on the couch, conversation tapering off as they hover in the realm of sleep. Tony is exhausted, and so comfortable, and he doesn’t want to leave--

The mistake lies therein -- he doesn’t want to leave, so he doesn’t. He’s so comfortable, he feels like he’s exactly where he needs to be. 

Somewhere between the waning moonlight slipping through the window and the hum of the TV serving as a makeshift lullaby for two lost souls, Tony ends up asleep in Steve’s arms. It’s not a conscious decision, like most things that happen with Steve… it just happens. One moment they’re apart then the next they’re drawn together like moths to a flame, finding each other somewhere in the middle and collide in perfect unison. 

Waking up in Steve's arms is exactly as perfect as he always imagined it would be. Steve is warm and solid against him, his arms wrapped loosely around the curve of Tony’s waist. Tony’s face rests against Steve’s broad chest, rising and falling with each breath Steve takes. It’s soothing, calming… it’s safe. Tony slowly blinks himself awake feeling safe and comfortable -- which is more than he can say for how he wakes most mornings. 

Then the realization sets in, and he feels like he’s been doused with cold water -- icy panic spreads through his veins as his eyes fly open, his heart clattering around in his chest like a pair of sunglasses tumbling in the dryer. He moves so quickly it’s a wonder he doesn’t wake Steve in his frantic haste to extract himself. 

He leaves Steve’s apartment without a word, knowing that he cannot deny it anymore. 

Falling in love with Steve Rogers has always been an inevitability, and he is simply a slave to fate. 

He doesn’t plan on disappearing this time, but he understands why Steve would think that he’s going to. 

The gallery opening isn’t for a few weeks after the incident, as Tony has taken to calling it in his mind, and Tony needs that time to think and process. He tells Steve this time, that he’s not going to be around. Steve calls, of course he does, wondering if Tony is okay. Tony knows he should give Steve a full answer, that he shouldn’t be doing this again. 

But he does. He doesn’t know how to stop being selfish.

Steve ambushes him the instant he steps into the art gallery on opening night. Typical Steve -- right to the point, not even giving Tony a chance to try and keep up or prepare himself. 

“You really gotta stop leaving without telling me why.” 

Tony’s entire body tenses at the sound of Steve’s voice behind him, his breath catching in his throat. He thought he was prepared for this inevitability, but actually being faced with it is a little bit different than knowing it’s going to happen. 

Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, Tony turns. 

Unsurprisingly, Steve looks breathtakingly handsome; rather than the paint stained t-shirt and sweatpants he’s used to seeing him in these days, he’s wearing a smart, sleek outfit of dress pants, a dress shirt, and a dark blue blazer. The dark blue against the fairness of his skin and his blond hair is a pleasant contrast, that somehow manages to bring out his eyes even more. God, Tony wishes that he would learn how to not be knocked off his feet over how perfect Steve is, from his kind eyes to his broad shoulders to his gentle but strong hands. What business does Steve have being this perfect, anyways? It just doesn’t seem fair. 

Steve’s expression makes Tony squirm inside; his brows are furrowed just enough that there’s a small frown line on his forehead, his jaw set. The intensity in his eyes burns right through Tony. 

“What are you talking about,” Tony said, his voice brittle underneath the veneer he puts on, hating himself for his words he was saying, “we spoke, didn’t we?”

“After I tracked you down myself,” Steve says. His voice is tight with emotion. Tony wants to run. “And I would hardly call that a conversation.”

“Well, I apologize for hurting your precious sensibilities.” Tony forces the words out through gritted teeth.  _ Shut up, Tony, _ he tells himself.  _ You weren’t going to leave again, stop acting like you were.  _

But he can’t. 

“Don’t mock me, please.”

Tony lets out a pained laugh. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Rogers. I got busy. I have a company to run. My life doesn’t revolve around you.” A lie. Tony is a liar and he hates himself for it. God, he was a fool for thinking that he could handle this, for thinking that he could be anything but hopelessly, foolishly in love with Steve. 

Steve doesn’t answer right away. He just gives Tony a long look with those unbearably blue eyes. He lets Tony squirm for a few moments, which Tony is fairly certain he deserves. 

Finally, Steve lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. His features soften to something somehow even more upsetting; bone deep exhaustion. Tony’s heart clenches. 

“I don’t want to do this here,” Steve says, nodding pointedly at the clusters of people around them who are not-so-subtly casting curious glances at the two of them. Tony is not easily embarrassed in public, but he feels shame wash over him anyways, purely for Steve’s sake. They all know Steve is the artist being celebrated, of course they’re curious why the face and CEO of Stark Industries is arguing with him on his big night. 

“How about we don’t do it at all?”

“Tony,” Steve hisses, “can we please just--”

Tony holds up a hand to stop him. He doesn’t want to give Steve a breakdown at his own exhibit, even he isn’t that cruel. “Fine.” 

Brows still set and unhappy lines etched into his face, Steve watches him carefully. “Come with me,” he says. 

Without waiting to see if Tony is following behind him, he turns on his heel and makes his way across the room, politely excusing himself from the onlookers as he goes. Tony makes a soft sound of derision, drains the last of his drink, sets the glass down, and follows in Steve’s footsteps. 

Steve leads him out a side door, up a narrow staircase. The upstairs of the gallery has art on the wall same as upstairs, but the room is quiet and dimly lit. 

“Why did you leave the first time, Tony?” Steve asks, his voice quiet, the barely controlled anger from earlier missing from his voice. 

Ah. So, they’re going to talk about that, then. 

Tony swallows thickly. He knows that he can hardly deal with angry Steve without his careful facade shattering, but vulnerable Steve is leaps and bounds beyond what he’s capable of dealing with. 

“I was bu--”

“Please stop saying you were too busy,” Steve interjects. He passes a hand over his face, turns to Tony with pleading eyes. “It’s bullshit and we both know it.”

Tony stays silent. 

“Did I… do something? To hurt you? I’ve thought about that night a million times, trying to figure out what I could’ve done to make you just  _ leave  _ without a word… but I can’t figure it out. If I did do something, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tony says, his voice firm but cracking just a bit. The thought of Steve agonizing over that night is not something he’d really considered. Truly, he’d thought that Steve would just assume Tony is a heartless asshole and let it be. Sure, Tony wasn’t dumb, he knew that they were good friends and that Steve would notice his absence, but he thought that Steve would get over it easily. Steve thinking  _ he  _ did something wrong is something that Tony wouldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. 

“Then why?” Steve’s voice takes on a hard edge of desperation. “You’re not a cruel person, Tony, I… I knew you. You were a good friend. You’re not the type of person to do that without a reason, and for fuck’s sake Tony, I think I deserve to know the reason.”

Tony shakes his head firmly. “The reason isn’t important, Steve, it’s not going to change anything.”

“It matters. How can you say that it doesn’t?”

Tony rubs his temples; his body is fighting against a headache, his entire being weighed down with exhaustion. “Steve--” 

Tony hunches his shoulder in a shrug. He hopes it looks unconcerned. “It just happened,” he says simply, “had a company to run, y’know?”

Frown lines are beginning to appear between Steve's brows. “That shouldn't keep you from your friends.” 

Tony snorts. “A common casualty of the job. It happens, Steve.” 

“Tony…” 

Tony is gripping the neck of his beer bottle so hard it's a miracle it hasn't shattered in his hand.. “Why does it matter anyways, Steve? You got along just fine without me.”

“I  _ missed  _ you.”

The air goes thick at Steve's words. 

“Friends don’t just abandon friends like that for no reason.” 

Those words strike Tony like a stake into his stomach. “Well, maybe I was just a shitty friend.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve snaps. Tony flinches at the intensity of his voice. “You’ve always been a good friend, Tony, you’ll always be a good friend. That’s why I know there was a reason that you’re just not  _ telling  _ me.”

Tony lets out a pained laugh. “You have far too much faith in me, Rogers.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, you just don’t have enough.” His voice is firm, unwavering in its certainty. It makes Tony’s chest tighten. After all this, Steve should hate him, should never had let Tony back into his life, should never even entertain the possibility of forgiving him. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I know you want to hear a reason, and I get it, but I can’t give you one that will make you feel better about all of this. I was an idiot and an asshole, and I isolated myself after graduation. I was about to be in charge of a company, and I couldn’t deal with…” Tony gestures between the two of them.

“I didn’t want to bring it up,” Steve says, “because I didn’t know if I imagined it… but god, Tony, if you were uncomfortable with my feelings you could have told me. You didn’t have to leave.” 

Tony’s hands drop to his sides, his brow creasing in confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

Steve lets out a long sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. His expression is pained. He hesitates before he speaks. “I thought we had a… moment. I didn’t know if I imagined it, or if it was real and it made you uncomfortable, but I was kicking myself for it later because I never wanted to push my feelings on you.” He takes a moment to pause, meanwhile Tony feels like he’s forgotten how to breath. “I was so close to kissing you. Then you ran and I… I didn’t know if you knew, if you could tell, if you were mad at me…”

Tony lifts both of his hands, palms facing out towards Steve, stopping him mid sentence. “You’re going to have to pause right there,” Tony says weakly. “I don’t understand. What feelings?”

Steve frowns. “I liked you, Tony,” he explains, speaking slowly, “you knew that.”

“You liked me as in…”

“Tony, don’t do this, please,” Steve sighs. “This is hard enough to talk about.” 

“I’m… not.” Tony suddenly feels like he needs to sit down. “I’m just trying to understand. I’m pretty fucking confused right now, Steve.”

“About…”

“Your…  _ feelings. _ ” 

A long pause. “You didn’t know?”

Tony shakes his head sharply. 

“Then you didn’t leave because of my feelings.”

Every time Steve utters the words “my feelings”, Tony feels a stake being thrust deeper and deeper into his gut. “I’m going to need a minute.” 

As much as he hadn’t wanted to admit it, Tony had never been in danger of falling in love with Steve again. He was in danger because he never stopped loving Steve, and he probably never will.

He can’t look up at Steve. “I left because I thought… I was silly enough to hope that you had feelings for me too. That I wasn’t the only one in love.” 

“You… what?” Now it’s Steve’s turn to join in on the utter confusion.

Tony lets out a brittle laugh. “This conversation is going absolutely nowhere, apparently.” He straightens up, dives into the flame. There’s no going back now, he might as well go out with a bang. “I guess I have nothing to lose so. I was tipsy, you were so close to me and my alcohol addled brain thought that maybe we were having a  _ moment,  _ but then you said… you said you didn’t expect this… you didn’t want it…”

“Tony,” Steve says roughly, “I said that because I was worried  _ you  _ didn’t want it… I thought maybe you realized my feelings and thought you were obligated…”

Tony feels like he’s going to be sick. He shakes his head frantically. “No. If I didn’t see you for years because a miscommunication…”

Steve strides towards him at that, wraps both of his hands around Tony’s forearms, holding him firmly in place so he can’t do anything but look him in the face, meet the intensity of his gaze. “Tony,” he says, his name heavy with emotion, hanging in the tension of the air around them. “Do you still love me?” 

Tony is suddenly so, so tired of hiding. So tired of shoving his own feelings aside, loving Steve silently and pretending it’s okay. He’s a self-destructive asshole, but he’s also a man in love who has been lonely for far too long. Loneliness has worn him down. 

“Yes,” he says. Simple, just a single word, yet it holds the weight of years behind it. 

Tony hardly has a moment to process what’s going on before Steve makes a pained sound in his throat and leans in, closing the gap between them. 

All of a sudden, there are warm, soft lips against his own, a hand sliding over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck, a hand moving down to his hip to pull him close. 

Tony doesn’t realize until moments later that the instant they made contact, he’d all but thrown himself into Steve’s arms, kissing him with every ounce of his strength. 

His body is moving on autopilot now; he doesn’t have to think about wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and stepping closer so that they’re pressed together. He just does it. A dam has broken and he’s powerless to stop anything at this point. All he can do is hold on and kiss Steve like he’s been wanting to since the moment they met. 

When they finally pull apart, they’re both more than a little bit out of breath, chests heaving slightly and both of their lips damp and reddened from the kiss.

“Um,” Tony rasps, “wow.”

“Yeah,” Steve says breathlessly. He lets out a shaky laugh. “Wow is right.”

“I’m an idiot,” Tony says plainly. “I’m the biggest idiot.”

“Maybe a little,” Steve says.

Tony shoots him a sharp look, but Steve just shrugs. “I am too. We’re both idiots. I could’ve told you what was going in my head, just as much as you could’ve.” 

“But you didn’t  _ run.” _

“No, that’s your specialty. But I was stubborn and assumed I knew what was best.” 

Tony quirks a brow. Steve smiles sheepishly. “Bucky gets on my case about that. Apparently it’s, ah, a personality quirk.” 

Tony snorts. “You could call it that.”

“Don’t act like you’re not stubborn too,” Steve retorts. “You’re the one who refused to talk to me for three years. Then came back and wouldn’t tell me how you felt.”

“Perhaps,” Tony says quietly, “we’re both idiots.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He reaches out for Tony’s hand, tangles their fingers together and squeezes gently. Tony’s heart skips a beat. “But maybe we can be idiots together?”

It’s a tentative, hopeful question, one that Tony hears the meaning of beyond the words. It’s something he never thought that Steve would ever ask of him. This isn’t a moment he ever thought that he would get to have. But here they are, Steve looking at him with hopeful eyes, his lips flushed from Tony’s kiss, holding Tony’s hand like a lifeline. 

For the first time since they’ve known each other, Tony doesn’t feel like running away. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, squeezing Steve’s hand back. “I think I can deal with that.”

Steve’s smile is pure elation, and, just because he can, Tony doesn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss it right off of his face. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [my tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/) or [my twitter](http://twitter.com/pensvsswords)!


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